


Fireflies and Fevers

by fleurofthecourt



Series: Angels Don't Get Sick [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace Cures the Mark of Cain, Dean Takes Care of Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Home, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pneumonia, Sam is Not Amused, Sick Castiel, Sickfic, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A human Cas comes down with pneumonia, and Dean beats himself up over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a universe in which Cas' grace was used to cure the Mark of Cain and afterwards, everyone mutually decided keeping secrets is bad. 
> 
> There are references to 10 x 20: Angel Heart and to 10 x 22: The Prisoner.
> 
> [Not related to the story, but, guys, if you're here, I hope it's a little because you like Claire and wish you could see more of Claire, and if so, you should look into reading about this [Wayward Daughters Campaign](http://waywarddaughtersacademy.tumblr.com/) to start a spinoff about her, Jody, Donna, and Alex and if you think it's a good idea, sign this [ petition](https://www.change.org/p/create-the-spinoff-fans-want-to-see-wayward-daughters) to help make it a reality.]

The summer air was humid and sticky, pressing uncomfortably against Cas’ skin. He shivered against it as he kept digging, suspecting he should feel anything but cold. The shovel felt heavier and heavier with every scoop full of dirt, and his grip on the handle was growing more and more tenuous. 

He didn’t think he would be able to keep up the pretense that he was well enough to do this much longer. 

Really, he hadn’t been well enough to start. 

His head had been throbbing all day, both before and after he’d been knocked out by the ghost that had taken up residence in the town’s magic shop. He had strategically failed to mention the before part to Dean and would have preferred Dean hadn’t been there for the after. 

He recognized that not saying anything was probably stupid, but, at some point, he’d realized that every time he had sought Dean out because he was ill or injured, Dean rarely reacted the way he wanted him to. 

He wanted comfort and affection and got only anger and accusation. 

To be fair, there was often good reason for Dean’s reaction -- getting himself into such a state was usually, especially to Dean’s way of thinking, a direct or indirect consequence of something foolish that he had chosen to do. Unfortunately, knowing this didn’t make Dean’s often harsh words sting any less. 

If anything, it made them sting more. 

Now Cas certainly wouldn’t describe his decision to become human -- permanently human -- as foolish, but he imagined that Dean held an entirely contrary opinion. 

Therefore, for the sake of getting through his first “salt and burn” hunt, he had thought keeping quiet about how he was almost positive he was becoming ill was for the best. 

But his plan was starting to unravel.

He was tired, shaky, and unfocused, his concentration on the task at hand fractured. Three or four times now, he’d thrown dirt onto Dean’s side of the grave rather than his own. If he kept doing it, Dean would be sure to notice something was off. 

In an attempt to regroup, Cas stopped, wiped at the sweat on his brow, and leaned heavily against his shovel. 

This was a mistake. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he knew he must have because he opened them to find himself pitching forward towards the now six foot deep hole. He tried to find purchase on the soil above the grave, but his feet were already off the ground. 

He clutched futilely at the air and let out a strangled yelp, and the wood of the shovel hit painfully against his sternum. 

Ultimately, he found himself lying precariously across the grave, with only the fallen shovel as support. Assuming that falling on top of the marble below was unlikely to improve matters, he clung to the poorly balanced tool before swinging his legs down to use the partially uncovered coffin as leverage.

"Dean," Cas said as he tried to get a hold of the muddy ground above. 

"Yeah, I've got you," Dean said as he reached down and helped to pull him up from under his shoulders. 

Once on higher ground, he blinked at his surroundings and found Dean’s eyes and freckles blurring with the dirt and grass. "You alright? That looked like it hurt." 

It _had_ hurt, but the pain wasn't registering like the dizziness was. Everything felt hazy.

Without answering Dean, he tried to go back for his shovel. He stumbled to the side and found Dean's arm curling over his shoulder. "Yeah, think you've taken enough blows for the day."

Dean pulled him away from the grave and pushed him down against a headstone a few feet away. The uneven plane of the top dug almost painfully into his back as he leaned into it. 

Dean looked at him searchingly. “You gonna make it if I finish dusting these bones?” 

Cas, assuming Dean meant _stay conscious_ , shrugged noncommittally before looking down at the grass. 

“Okay.” Dean scrubbed his hand down his face before crouching down next to him. “How many fingers?”

Cas looked up and blinked at Dean’s hand. He was holding up two fingers, two fingers that glowed with faint illumination suggesting two further phantom appendages that Cas suspected weren’t actually there. “Two?” 

“You sound like you’re not sure,” Dean said. “That’s not comforting. Okay, what day is it?” 

“Wednesday. Why do you need to know what day it is?” Cas asked. 

“I don’t. What I need to know is if you have a concussion,” Dean said. 

“How will knowing the day of the week clarify that?” Cas asked. 

“Okay. You’re fine,” Dean said, patting his shoulder. "Don’t move. Holler if you need me.” 

Cas lazily ran his hand over the damp and muddy grass beside him as he waited for Dean to finish burning the bones, trying his hardest to not fall asleep. 

He did not succeed. 

XXX 

Something soothingly cool brushed his forehead before the sound of Dean’s voice, as though from under water, slowly reached his ears. “Cas, wake up! Cas, come on, damn it!” 

He blinked up blearily, finding that the night sky, which before had been a brilliant wash of pink and fading blue, was now a dark navy, filled with blinking stars. 

“Why...why are they going out?” 

Dean looked up, then looked back down, frowning. “Why are what going out?”

“The stars. They appear to be fading.” 

“Christ, Cas.” Dean hooked his arms under his legs and hoisted him from the ground. “Those aren’t stars. They’re lightning bugs.” 

“They’re...they’re very beautiful.” 

Dean shook his head. “You’re delirious.” 

Limply, unconcerned with anything but the beautiful lights, he let his weight fall into Dean’s arms and pressed his cheek into the soft fabric of Dean’s overshirt, watching over his shoulder as the fireflies faded from view. 

Dean moved them more and more quickly towards the Impala. 

XXX 

When he woke up, hours later, he didn’t take in much -- a needle in his arm, a hand wrapped firmly around his own, and Sam and Dean’s voices crackling nearby like radio static. 

“So, he’s got pneumonia. They’re putting him on antibiotics and trying to get the fever down. I went and got all his meds already, so we’re good for making a run for it, but I’m thinking maybe we should wait the fever out a little. I mean, he really had you worried,” Sam trailed off. “Hey, you okay?” 

“He’s...he’s not suppose to get sick like this, Sam. He’s ...he’s a freaking angel.” 

“Dean... you know he chose this. He chose this for you.” 

Dean’s grip on Cas’ hand tightened. 

“Well, then, he damn well better tell me the next time I’m making him dig up a grave with a 103 degree fever. Because I...” Dean’s voiced cracked. “I had no idea.” 

“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “So you didn’t know. That doesn’t make this your fault, Dean. Cas got sick. People get sick. That happens. That’s not on you.” 

“Yeah, Sam, it is. Because Cas ain’t supposed to be human.” 

As suspected, the anger and accusation were there, but Dean seemed to blame himself. With as much reassurance as he could muster, Cas squeezed his hand back. “Yes, Dean, I am.” 

XXX 

Much later, the sound of the Impala’s engine running pulled him out of a dream about the ocean being formed. 

He jerked upright as a series of violent coughs racked his whole body. He was surprised by how much it hurt. 

Gentle hands wrapped around his shoulders and torso before rubbing down his arms until the fit abated. 

“That was...that was unpleasant.” 

“Well, coughing’s good. Coughing means you’re getting better,” Dean guided him back against the seat before reaching down for his duffel bag. “What the doc said anyway.” 

Cas nodded. He didn’t, per se, feel better, but his head did seem much clearer than the last few times he’d been awake, both in the hospital and the car. “Sam’s driving?” 

“Didn’t want to leave you back here by yourself. ‘Sides, someone’s got to show you what to do with all this shit. Got a whole frigging drug store in here.” Dean patted against the duffel bag before unzipping it and rifling through t-shirts and jeans until he got to a white paper bag. He lifted the contents out one by one. “Pain meds, for your noggin. Cough syrup -- should knock you out, if you can’t sleep. Uh, got an inhaler, if you feel like you can’t breath. And, here, you got to take this one now.” 

He uncapped an amber vial before reaching over for a bottle of water. 

“So, for God knows what reason, Sam told Claire you were in the hospital. Guess we’re really going whole hog on this whole ‘no secrets in this family’ thing. Not sure this actually applied. Claire’s not...” Dean trailed off as Sam fervently shook his head in the rearview mirror. “Well, anyway, Claire told us you’re allergic to Penicillin. So, uh, remember that.” 

“How...” Cas doubled over his arm as more coughs racked his frame before reaching for the tablet and the water. “How would she know? She was quite young when...” 

“Because she is. Did allergy tests on her when she was little because of Jimmy’s. Guess it's genetic or something." Dean shrugged before reaching deeper into the bag and pulling out a grey and white stuffed cat. “Told me to find you the ugliest one in the gift shop. Think that means she wants you to feel better.” 

Cas smiled as he lifted the cat up, inspecting it. “This...this was the ugliest?” 

“Outside Hot Topic, making them ugly isn’t really the goal.” 

“I should thank her. I need my phone.” 

"Sure you’re up for a call?" 

Cas frowned. “I don’t expect it to be difficult.” 

“I know you don’t. But, Cas, look, you’ve been really out of it for a couple days. You need to take it slow.” Cas squinted at him, and Dean sighed. “Tell you what, we’ll put her on speaker.” 

Ten minutes later, when Dean was trying to reassure Claire that Cas could, in fact, breath, despite all evidence to the contrary, Cas found that being on speakerphone was an incredible blessing. 

He could yell at both of them at once. 

He took a third long puff from his inhaler, wishing that Dean’s hands didn’t need to be steadying his as he held it, before pushing Dean back and glaring at him with the wrath of Heaven. “She’s...she’s been hunting and neither of you deemed it important to tell me?” 

In the same instant, Dean and Claire were both telling him, in their own variations, that she wasn’t his daughter, she was an adult, and she was capable of making her own damn decisions, none of which he disputed. 

“I am well aware that I am not your father, Claire, but you know that I will always feel responsible for you. So please remember that. Remember that I want you to stay safe, and that I will always help you, in whatever way I can," Cas said, then added, as an after thought, "I am quite knowledgable." 

“And good with a blade,” Claire supplied, grudgingly. “Okay. Fine. After Jody, you two, and Sam, are my go to hunting mentors. Happy?” 

“Delighted,” Dean said in a way that compelled Cas to add, very sincerely,“Yes, thank you, Claire.” 

“Okay, well, it’s been swell, guys, but I’ve got some hex books to dig up so Alex and I can go cast some wildly dangerous spells together.” 

Dean’s hands wrapped around Cas’ shoulders before the coughing fit even started. “Cut the sarcasm, Sabrina. Only got the one inhaler." 

“Right, sorry,” Claire, sounding genuinely guilty, rushed to hang up, “I, uh, I have very real homework to go do. So I’ll...I’ll talk to both of you later. Feel better, Cas.” 

As Dean pocketed his phone, Cas mused, “She’s never called me ‘Cas’ before. I think I like it."

"Oh yeah?" 

"Shortened names are often a sign of familiarity or affection," Cas continued as Dean sheepishly straightened out his blanket. "She has every right to hate me, but she doesn’t." 

“Well, we did _try_ to save her mom,” Dean said, before frowning over his own words, seeming to find they sounded wrong, even to him. He chewed carefully over his next ones. “Look, God knows why, we screwed up her whole life, but that kid, she cares. She cares about you.”

He bit at his lip before adding, “Last time we saw her, told me to keep an eye on you. Said you’d been through enough.” 

Dean averted his eyes before adding, “Kind of did a royally banged up job on that one.” 

“Dean,” Cas protested. 

But he rattled on. “Damn near killed you, Cas. Then you... you had to come use up your grace to save me. And that’s ...that’s a done deal. You’re human now, you’re human for good. And, after all that, after everything, nearly let you die on me because I’m too goddamn stupid to notice your brain’s being cooked.” 

Sam quirked an eye at the mirror, clearly uncomfortable with this whole conversation, before saying, “Dean, you really don’t need to get into this with him right now. He’s sick.” 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Cas said before gently pressing his hand into Dean’s shoulder, “Dean, I made my choice.” 

“You sure you made the right one? Because, come on, Cas, you really telling me that you want to spend the rest of your life hunting monsters with me? That your mojo was really worth that? Because I know I ain’t worth that.”

Cas strongly disagreed, but he decided simply stating that alone was not going to convince him. After some contemplation, he asked, “Do you know the word ‘hiraeth’?” 

Completely thrown by the change of topic, Dean took a moment before replying, “Uh...no?” 

“It’s a kind of homesickness for a place you can no longer return.” 

“Okay, thanks for the vocab lesson. What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“It’s how I feel about Heaven. Heaven is no longer the home it once was, and I’m no longer the angel I once was. And I want you to understand this, Dean, since it is largely your doing -- I stopped being an angel, a true angel, long before I gave up my grace.” 

“That suppose to make me feel better about any of this? Because, man, it really, really doesn’t.” 

“Dean, what I’m trying to tell you is that I do not belong in Heaven anymore. I haven’t for a long time -- in no small part because my feelings for you have long outweighed any desire to return.” 

“So what are you saying? I’m your home now?” 

Dean made it sound like that was ridiculous when it was anything but. 

“Yes.” 

“Because that makes sense. People aren’t homes, Cas.” 

Cas took Dean’s hand and placed it against his heart. “According to a decorative pillow I once found ‘home is where the heart is,’ and, Dean, my heart is with you.” 

After some acrobatic changes in his facial expression, in which Dean appeared to be trying, with great difficulty not to do something, he snorted, then chuckled, then seemed to be unable to stop laughing. 

“I’m sorry, Cas. I'm sorry. I know you’re being serious, and I’m being an ass. But that’s ...that’s damn near the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “We’ll blame my fever. The sentiment stands.”

It took Dean a few more minutes to collect himself, but once he did, he seemed nervous. “So, uh, you’re in love with me, huh?”

“I’m in love with you.” 

“Funny,” Dean huffed. “Think, uh, think I might be in love with you.” 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Cas asked as provocatively as he could manage under the circumstances. 

Dean, taking the none too subtle hint, leaned in to kiss him. 

Right as their lips touched, Sam piped up from the front. “I can’t even believe you two. You’ve pined over each other for years. You’ve had anvil sized hints that you’re in love with each other. And you can’t wait to do something about it until you’re alone in the car. Oh no, you have to wait until you’re with me, at least an hour away from the cabin we’re driving to. You get one kiss before we get there. One.” 

Dean drew back to ask, “When the hell were we suppose to figure this out, Sammy?” 

When Sam was three possible love confession points in and Cas was on the verge of falling back asleep, Dean seemed to have sincerely regretted his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hɨraɪ̯θ), noun | A Welsh, untranslatable feeling, hiraeth is loosely described as a homesickness for a home you cannot return to anymore or a place, which never even existed. Connotations of sadness, yearning, profound nostalgia, and wistfulness are imbued into the state of hiraeth. Overall this beautiful, but painful longing is a an expression of an empty desire and grief over a past life or place. It is the ultimate signifier of a bond, which has ceased to exist. ~ WordsNQuotes.com
> 
> [catalogercas](http://catalogercas.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas tries, with difficulty, to explain what he gets out of being human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really intend to write a second chapter, but, well, here we are. Don't think there will be any more, though. 
> 
> (I should probably work on my fics that are actually _suppose_ to be multiple chapters...)
> 
> Anywho, enjoy, or not. However you feel :)

It was the middle of the night, two days later, when a soft tickle against his neck and the lingering scent of shampoo tugged Cas awake as Dean leaned over him, tapping lightly at his shoulder.

Without opening his eyes, he mumbled, "I'm the one that's ill, if my coughing is keeping you awake, sleep elsewhere." 

"It's not that..." Cas raised half lidded eyes to see Dean frowning over the patchwork quilt as he picked at the fabric. He licked at his lips. "It’s, uh...” the quilt appeared to become momentarily more interesting before he cocked his eyes up, “do you...do you _want_ to be human, Cas?" 

Had they not already been over this? 

"Dean, I told you...” 

"Noble frigging love crap. Yeah, I got that. Not what I mean." 

Cas, sensing that this was going to be a very long, very serious conversation, sat up and leaned into the headboard. "What _do_ you mean?" 

"Dude, you were like Superman. Superman on steroids." 

One that he believed he'd rather not have. "I don't believe my abilities had an exact comic book analog."

“Cas, I’m serious. You gave up all that mojo, and you’re happy? Really happy?” 

Cas rubbed a hand down his face, a gesture he has seen Dean use when he's frustrated. The words to explain were there, on the tip of his tongue, but he sensed they were incorrect. “Tell me, Dean, how do you feel about being an ant?” 

Dean's face immediately fell, and his certainty that this was wrong grew.

"You feel like an ant? Awesome. That’s awesome.” 

It definitely didn’t sound awesome. 

And, for further proof that it wasn’t, Dean turned away and forcefully shoved his head into his pillow. 

Cas sighed before continuing anyway. "How would you feel about being an ant after you spent a great deal of time with them, in an ant's form, learned much about them, and befriended several?" 

Dean didn't reply, but he rolled back towards Cas, arms folded, aggravated but attentive. 

“Then you came to understand, that according to your own species, ants, who are now among your closest friends, are an insignificant casualty in the civil war you’re about to fight?” 

“Like angels are a bunch of dicks.” 

Cas raised an eye. “I thought I was speaking allegorically?" 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay. Like humans are a bunch of dicks. Still wouldn’t want to be an ant.” 

“And, then, neither did I.” 

Dean smirked. "Thought we were speaking allegorically." 

Cas rolled his eyes, then, after trying to string along the next bit of his explanation, found that it was his turn to crumple into the pillows. 

His explanation was too long, and, because ants were not human, the exact parallels were not going to line up. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly sure how a human could be a God to an ant. 

He mumbled into the sheets. “This is not going to work.” 

His lungs protested the movement and, after a moment, he sat back up sputtering, his eyes watering. 

Dean helped him back against the headboard before giving him a once over. "There still water in that cup?" 

Cas looked over at the nightstand and shook his head. Then he started to swing his legs over the bed. 

"I'll get it," Dean said as he padded around the bed and grabbed the glass. "And, Jesus, we don't need to do this right now. Don't know what I was thinking." 

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder, using it as leverage to get off the bed, ignoring Dean's attempts to brush him off. "You would not have woken me up, in the middle of the night, if this wasn’t weighing on you.” 

"Yeah..." Dean ducked his head slightly. “It's just...I don't know...I just...I want you to be happy.” 

“And you think I would be happier as an angel?” Cas asked as he trudged after Dean, slowly making his way to the cabin’s small kitchen. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, turning back to give him a questioning glance. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“No,” Cas said plainly. 

It was, perhaps, not the complete truth. 

Yet he could not truly go back to what he had been before -- his grace had been greatly diminished, his wings irrevocably broken. And, as he had said, Heaven was no longer home. 

“I am content enough like this."

Dean, unsurprisingly, looked unconvinced. 

"Well, perhaps not at this precise moment. I can’t say I care for pneumonia. It’s very tiresome.” 

Dean chuckled lightly at that as he turned on the faucet. "Don't think anyone cares for it."

And, now that he’d been human, there were human things -- touch and taste and feeling-- that in his angelic form, he had found tantalizingly diluted. 

“Dean...I want to explain this to you, what it means for me to be human. But... outside?" 

“You getting cabin fever?” Dean asked as he watched water rise to the brim of the glass. 

"I do have a fever. I don't believe it's related to..." Cas said, pressing his fingers to his temple but dropping his hand as he caught Dean side-eying him. "It's an expression?" 

“Yeah," Dean handed him the glass, grinning softly, "means you feel like you’ve been cooped up too long.” 

“Then, yes, I believe I have ‘cabin fever,’ in addition to my actual fever." 

"Okay. Well, don’t think you’d win a race with a snail right now. Hope you weren’t planning a hike.” 

"Simply going outside will be enough," Cas said, taking Dean’s hand and leading him to the cabin’s front steps. He sat down on them and gestured for Dean to do the same. 

He sipped slowly at his water, shivering slightly at the gentle breeze as he stared out into the expanse of wood that lie beyond the cabin, thankful that the scattered fireflies were now clearly differentiated from the stars twinkling overhead. 

“It’s very beautiful here.” 

Dean kind of blinked before looking around him like he’d just noticed where they were, then nodded. “Uh, yeah...I guess. Good for looking at stars. Peaceful and shit.” 

Cas’ lips quirked slightly. “This would have been beautiful to me, before, as an angel, but...but I could not ‘see the trees for the forest.’” 

Dean rested his hand on his shoulder. “Think it goes ‘can’t see the forest for the trees,’ Cas.”

“Perhaps...but that’s not what I mean,” Cas said, gazing ahead. “All I saw, all I felt was how all of these things -- the trees, the animals, the air, everything -- how it was all connected.” 

“Huh,” Dean said. 

Cas sighed before drawing his arms over his shoulders as goose bumps began to prickle against his skin. “It’s...it’s difficult to explain.” 

“Well, we got all night and then some,” Dean said before taking in Cas’ shivering form. “But, uh, think you’ve had enough fresh air. Come on.” 

Cas, shaky on his feet now, let Dean guide him back to their bed and draw the covers up to his chin. He let himself be enveloped by the warmth of the quilt and Dean’s skin pressing against his side before saying, “I could not have felt all of this as an angel.” 

“Felt all of what?” Dean asked, rolling in so that they were facing each other, their noses only a few inches apart. 

“What it’s like to be warmed up from the cold,” Cas said, shifting his weight before adding, “How clean sheets feel against clean skin... thank you, for that.” 

“Dude, neither of us wanted to sleep in your sweat,” Dean said, shaking his head. 

Cas smiled lightly before wrapping his hand around Dean’s wrist and rubbing his thumb gently against its inside. “Or what it feels like to fall asleep next to you and wake up to you.”

He continued to rub circles into Dean’s palm as Dean stared at him, wide-eyed and, as always, uncomprehending of how deep this went. 

“I enjoyed watching over you, but now, I believe, we are watching over each other.” 

Dean breathed out softly as his eyes began to droop. “Yeah, sure, something like that.” 

Cas closed his own eyes, listening to the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest, a rhythm he found comforting in any form, and let himself do what he could not as an angel -- he dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "These fragile bodies of touch and taste  
> This fragrant skin this hair like lace  
> Spirits open to a thrust of grace  
> Never a breath you can afford to waste." 
> 
> Lovers in a Dangerous Time ~ Barenaked Ladies


End file.
